


Take Me Down

by Ianwritesnsfw (ianwritesthings)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bratty Subs, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Gunplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Ownership, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Sub Oikawa, Yakuza, a bit - Freeform, aka finger cutting as an apology, aka oikawa - Freeform, as a kink? sort of, dominant iwaizumi, mentions of yubitsume, oikawa is the yakuza leader tho, um, very brief tho, yeets myself out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ianwritesthings/pseuds/Ianwritesnsfw
Summary: “How does it feel, having so much stature. So much power at your fingertips, knowing you control 85% of Tokyo’s underground, being waited on like you own everyone but when you come home someone below you fucks you till you cry like a goddamn slut?”Iwaizumi’s never particularly been good at praise, but he’s fantastic at degrading Oikawa so hard that his cock jerks against his thigh and his breath is stolen out of his lungs. Elsewhere, The brunette takes the reins in talking to people, but behind closed doors like this Iwaizumi wrecks him perfectly with words alone.





	Take Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote for my boyfriend's birthday that's coming up very soon!! He got a sneak peek at it so I decided to post it even though its FILTHY and not all that good because I wrote it up fast!

Dealing with the police is exhausting.

 

In recent years there’s been an uptick of clashes between yakuza members and police in an effort to stamp out yakuza from Japan. Though it’s worked in many places, the core yakuza remain alive and well. Smaller clans like Johenzi have seen a decline, and have had more run-ins with the police, more incarations and arrests.

 

In turn, there’s been more gang violence in those areas. Police may not realize it, but the yakuza keep younger troublemakers in line, give them rules to abide by. Each yakuza may be different, but there are always rules and consequences.

 

Which is why Oikawa has grown to hate the police trying to control the yakuza.

 

What they do may be illegal, some of it, but they run the underground and keep it from becoming a bloodbath. Civil, if only on the surface.

 

He’s glad to return to the club he calls home, on the top floor overlooking Tokyo. The lights twinkle, and the metallic surface of the countertop of his kitchen reflect it back like starlight. He knows well that joining the yakuza wasn’t his plan, let alone being the leader of one, being a target to the police.

 

The leader of one of the largest and closest knit yakuza ever.

 

Oikawa had gotten swept up in it all, and in turn, dragged Iwaizumi along with him. He hadn’t intended it really, but the two did everything together and Iwaizumi would never let him get into something this serious without his ace by his side.

 

Volleyball or not, Iwaizumi is always his ace. The one he depends on the most, his second in command, the one he seeks solace in on late nights when blood paints his nightmares and insecurities drag him down.

 

It’s only natural Iwaizumi progressed with him, always one step behind him to catch him and save his ass as they climbed the ranks, like a guard dog by the leader’s side. Holding less presence, but more leverage than almost anyone else at any table in regards to how the syndicate progresses.

 

It’s only natural then, that Iwaizumi fits right in against his side after a late night dealing with the police to get Kyoutani out of trouble again. The darker haired man is his second-in-command, but it’s a front for the role of lover that he’s taken behind closed doors, lips meeting his and hips pressed up against each other. Stumbling in the dark, kisses to a quickened pulse, hickeys left beneath Oikawa’s collar.

 

It doesn’t matter if the brunette is taken, and he suspects his core circle knows, but Iwaizumi will always remain just his second-in-command, not his lover for the sake of the syndicate.

 

Late at night though, with lips pressed under his jaw he aches to let the shorter man take him, bring him down from his pedestal as the leader. And Oikawa gets what he wants, always does, because Iwaizumi is his and he is Iwaizumi’s.

 

“Hajime, don’t tease.”

 

It only earns him a nip on the shell of his ear, hands fumbling to drag his tie off and unbutton his shirt. It’s a good gesture, so the brunette takes mercy on him and slips his shirt and suit jacket off, leaving his tattoos on display. Another mark of their involvement being permanent, regardless of how they sometimes crave a more normal life.

 

Neither of them would trade it for anything, even if they could.

 

“You’re not the boss now, Oikawa.”

 

If anyone else said it, white-hot anger would have overtaken him. Demanded payment in the form of yubitsume, fingers delivered onto his desk by the offender. Since it’s Iwaizumi though, it only serves to color his cheeks and make heat flicker down his spine like honey.

 

“Ah, Iwa-chan’s such a demon,” he states playfully, relishing in the messy way he’s caged to the wall, his ass nudged against the press of Iwaizumi’s gun.

 

Or his cock, but either one serves to make his blood sing.

 

“Look at me,” Iwaizumi snarls, shoving the yakuza leader to press his back to the chilly wall. Goosebumps form down his arms, but Oikawa just swallows and meets the shorter’s gaze with a raised chin.

 

A challenge, just like they like it.

 

“You say that I am yours, right Tooru?”

 

A nod.

 

“That you own me?”

 

Nod nod

 

“Well let me tell you something, you gun loving manic. _You_ are mine, I own you.”

 

There’s the force he’s always loved so much. Heat courses through his veins, sharp and intense and clawing in his stomach. He knows that Iwaizumi sees his pride crumble in the face of the possessive manner his lover shows.

 

“Answer me, Oikawa. Do you know that I own you equally, that you are mine?”

 

He wants to break away, snarl like a wild animal and dig his sharp nails into their arm. Pride wells in his chest, like a tiger, making itself known.

 

Instead, he opens his mouth and lets a quiet

 

“Yes”

 

Fall from his lips, barely audible. His dick throbs sharply at the reminder of how his lover refuses to be ignored, demanding his respect and submission at every step the second the doors close.

 

“You act like such hot shit out there, talking like you don’t let me fuck you senseless and suck hickeys into your skin, like you aren’t a slut for being owned. You like it when I make you say it don’t you?”

 

The harsh words make his dick ache in reminder that he’s been hard since Iwaizumi opened the doors to their penthouse. Iwaizumi is the only one he’s ever let do this, own him so completely, make him choke on his own spit in an effort to cry out for them.

 

“Yes. I do, I like it, Hajime please,”

 

Oikawa hears the whine that pitches his voice, but can’t bring himself to care when Iwaizumi leans into him like a dance, a leg pressed between the yakuza leader’s, letting him grind down on their thigh. Iwaizumi strokes over the ink that ends on his pecs, pinching his nipples and sucking a mark just below his collar.

 

“I bet you get hot thinking about me fucking you right here, _kumicho_ ,” Iwazumi says it so derisively and his blood sings, hips jerking sharply down against the short man’s thigh

 

“Please,” he wheezes sharply, feeling his flush spread to the tips of his ears.

 

“No, too bad. Go wait for me in the bedroom and strip for me.”

 

With that, the heat of his lover is gone and Oikawa is left shivering with only a hickey on his collarbone to show for it. He knows Iwaizumi won’t disappoint, he never has.

 

He can’t resist thumbing over the flushing tip of his cock when he strips down, settling with his feet tucked under his ass, leaving a collar and leash on the bed beside him. Feeling owned has always made him feel that much hotter to the core.

 

He’d be on his knees, but one of them twinges still from an old injury so he’ll settle for this. Iwaizumi knows he can’t by now, and it’s okay.

 

“Good boy, taking orders,” Iwaizumi’s voice is a bit softer but no less derisive, closing their bedroom with a resounding click. The part of him that wants to snarl and bite their face off is soothed by the promise held in his eyes, like hot coals.

 

“Iwa-chan,”

 

It’s as much a plea as it is a threat, that Oikawa craves the submission Iwaizumi offers but won’t hesitate to turn the tables.

 

“None of that. You know better than to call me that here,” Iwaizumi frowns, smacking his thigh in warning, earning a sharp inhale from his partner. Though their differing stature in the yakuza clan is obvious even now in the thick swaths of tattoos Oikawa has, Iwaizumi is clearly in control and Oikawa prefers it that way.

 

“Hajime,” he whispers, feeling his pride choke on it.

 

“Better,” Iwaizumi states conversationally like he isn’t tugging Oikawa’s impeccably styled hair and fastening a worn leather collar onto the taller man’s neck. It’s been the one they’ve used for a while now, after their first few collars that broke after the first harsh tug. This one has stuck around, and is clearly well loved, but neither of them would trade it for a newer one at this point.

 

The leash fastens with a loud click, and the brunette doesn’t hesitate to tilt his neck just so to show it off. Oikawa looks good and he knows it, cherry blossom tattoos trailing his arm, tigers down his breast and dark inky black designs down to the middle of his back where his in process tattoos are, only half colored.

 

“You love it don’t you, being owned like a bitch?”

 

Pride rears, blood rushing in his ears, but he makes no move to dispute the harsh claim. Iwaizumi knows what he likes by now, after so many years together.

 

“How does it feel, having so much stature. So much power at your fingertips, knowing you control 85% of Tokyo’s underground, being waited on like you own everyone but when you come home someone below you fucks you till you cry like a goddamn slut?”

 

Iwaizumi’s never particularly been good at praise, but he’s _fantastic_ at degrading Oikawa so hard that his cock jerks against his thigh and his breath is stolen out of his lungs. Elsewhere, The brunette takes the reins in talking to people, but behind closed doors like this Iwaizumi wrecks him perfectly with words alone.

 

“Answer me,” the ace snarls, sharp and warning while he drags Oikawa over his clothed lap with a harsh smack to his ass.

 

Oikawa can’t tell the difference between the hardness of his cock and his gun, but it doesn’t matter right now.

 

“Ah, Hajime-”

 

Another smack rains down, leaving his ass pink while he squirms, only kept from rocking into his clothed thigh by a muscular arm across his back.

 

“Answer me, do you like it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

There’s a rough palm dragging his back, stopping to squeeze his ass. It’s a bit soothing, but it’s not what Oikawa aches for right now.  He wants the harsh but caring manner Iwaizumi has always had.

 

He gets what he wants in the form of getting rolled over, a thumb brushing under his eye like there isn’t a thigh between his legs that presses against his dick in a way that makes his breath quicken. Iwaizumi looks unfairly good in a suit, even if it’s a bit rucked up from the scuffle in the hallway. Possibly more so because of it, with the tie off and the top three buttons undone.

 

“Good boy,”

 

This time it’s not demeaning, but genuine praise. The brunette can’t focus on it long though, because there’s a hot mouth that sucks at his inked skin, clothed hips grinding up against his own.

 

“Oh my god- fuck, Hajime is that, is that your gun in your pocket?”

 

He barely manages to suppress the joke on the tip of his tongue, because he’s genuinely curious.

 

“Do you want it to be?”

 

Oikawa isn’t sure, so he arches up against the teeth scraping over his nipple, hands tangling in the sheets so he doesn’t tug their hair. Iwaizumi seems to understand, brushing his thumbs down the harsh v of Oikawa’s hips, drawing back to slip his pants and boxers off. His shirt comes after, and Iwaizumi leaves him cold for a moment to retrieve lube.

 

They’ve long since forgone condoms, since the two are exclusive and Oikawa likes it, even if it makes a mess.

 

“Stay put,” Iwaizumi warns and Oikawa hums, enjoying the pressure of the collar that shifts when he swallows in anticipation. There’s a chill around his wrists a moment later that he welcomes, the softness of fur lined cuffs fastening around his wrists to the headboard after calling for the yakuza leader to roll over.

 

Iwaizumi is considerably more gentle prepping him than needed, but it’s to be safe, so Oikawa doesn’t mind as much even when hands wander a bit down to his hip, dragging him onto his knees with his cheek to the sheets.

 

There’s a lazy quirk of Iwaizumi’s fingers that draws a huffed noise of enjoyment from the taller one, perking his ass in quiet hope for a repeat. It feels good, being spread out by Iwaizumi’s fingers while he spits filthy words in the yakuza leader’s ear.

 

Being in control all the time is exhausting, and he relishes in the surrender he gets from this, putting Iwaizumi in control of what happens and when and how. For such a control freak, he really enjoys being thrown around and put in his place.

 

“Green?” the shorter asks in a final check that all of this is okay, giving Oikawa an opportunity to safeword out if this isn’t what he wants tonight, or if it bothers his knee. Or any other reason he would need an out.

 

There’s a nod and a muffled reply, but Iwaizumi isn’t satisfied with that. A smack to the brunette’s ass rings out, accompanied by a quiet gasp from his partner.

 

“Use your words, _kumicho,_ ” Iwaizumi spits out, using the title like an insult.

 

“Green, Hajime please,”

 

“Relax,” Iwaizumi spares a smile against the nape of the taller man’s neck, stroking down inked sides to rest on the swell of Oikawa’s arse, thumbing over the pinkness of the hole there to watch it twitch in the chilly air.

 

“Slut. Trying to suck me in here, aren’t you?”

 

He doesn’t ask for a reply though, grasping the band of Oikawa’s collar and pressing the head of his cock against the spasming hole. He pulls the yakuza leader up by the collar, back to chest, held up against his lover by the force of the collar pressed to his neck, arms stretched forwards by the cuffs.

 

Iwaizumi is well aware that it cuts off the air Oikawa can take in, making him gasp in sharper than intended.

 

“Your pretty ass is just trying to suck me in, Tooru. Such a good whore, only for my cock. Made for me to fuck your hole,”

 

It’s a whisper against Oikawa’s ear as he nudges the head of his cock against his ass until Oikawa relaxes enough for him to press inside. The brunette is squeezing sporadically around him in time with ragged breaths huffed through his mouth. Iwaizumi stops, lets up on the collar for him to fall back to the bed. With his hands cuffed, Oikawa is forced to catch himself on his shoulders while Iwaizumi presses in the rest of the way, hands finding purchase on slim hips.

 

“Green?”

 

Oikawa swallows thickly, nodding in agreement and rolling his hips back.

 

“Kick me if I actually hurt you,” the shorter man reminds, nudging his hips against the softness of Oikawa’s ass.

 

With all their Yakuza duties, neither of them always have time to indulge in such involved sex. Most nights it’s Iwaizumi cooking while Oikawa settles things with police, other yakuza, and the number of clubs and dens they own across the city. It’s nice to have time to take Oikawa apart piece by piece like this, an infrequent luxury.

 

Iwaizumi stays slow for a bit if only to watch Oikawa squirm, aching for more but too prideful to say it. Soft sex is their go-to usually, but this is just as good in an entirely different way.

 

“Hajime, fuck me like you mean it,” Oikawa commands, demanding to be listened to.

 

Even while bottoming, Oikawa has some degree of an edge.

 

Submission is not in Oikawa Tooru’s nature, which is how Iwaizumi likes it.

 

Iwaizumi lets himself loose, hips slamming into the plush of Oikawa’s ass, grabbing the collar and snarling filth in the yakuza leader’s ear, leaving hickeys that will have to be covered in the coming days.

 

Oikawa’s hands open and close in fists, and Iwaizumi knows he aches to touch, to leave stinging lines down the shorter man’s back and to spill screams of his lover’s name into the darkness of their penthouse.

 

That’s not allowed though, not yet.

 

Heat coils his stomach, feeling Oikawa squeeze tight around him at the pull of the collar. It must be chafing by now considering how he’s been dragging them around by it, but the brunette doesn’t call a red or yellow, so Iwaizumi figures it’s still in the “good pain” zone.

 

“Feels like you want me to fucking cum, Tooru, breed you like a bitch.”

 

Impossible, but the fantasy is something the two of them like.

 

“Do you want it, Tooru? Want me to fill up your whore ass and make you keep it in, make you wear a plug till you have meetings?”

 

There’s a high keen, and his lover gets impossibly tight. There’s a quick kick to his leg and he lets the taller man fall back to the mattress with a groan.

 

“You okay? I know I held it a bit long,” Iwaizumi is genuinely worried, because Oikawa is prideful thing and won’t use their safewords or signals unless he has to.

 

“I need to cum, please, Hajime I-” Oikawa breaks off, tears in brown eyes.

 

“Shh, okay. Okay, I got you, Tooru.”

 

Iwaizumi pauses, unlatching the handcuffs and gently flipping Oikawa onto his back, letting the taller one latch onto him like a leech. Heels find his lower back to urge him on, hands clawing marks into his back that he’s almost positive will be there for the rest of the week.

 

Oikawa is a wreck, like he always is after this. There’s drool down his chin, his cheeks are red both from exertion and lack of air, and tears make his eyes misty. He knows by now though that it’s a good sign, that he’s fully in subspace.

 

“Such a good boy,” Iwaizumi murmurs, thrusts a bit softer and slower now in time with his hand working over his lover. Immaculate hair falls into his eyes, Oikawa is crying, clawing at his back and babbling out sweet half-formed pleas. Pride is secondary, now.

 

Oikawa likes it rough, but the ending always ends up softer, with the yakuza leader putty in his hands.

 

Iwaizumi changes the angle a tiny bit, leaning into his lover like a dance to watch Oikawa’s eyelids flutter and his mouth fall open in a silent scream, white painting over his abdomen.

 

For all that Oikawa is loud almost all the time, he’s quiet when he cums, wearing an expression like it’s shocked him, arching off the mattress and digging his sharp nails into Iwaizumi’s back hard enough it hurts even through hazy arousal.

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t take particularly long with how his lover is squeezing around him, trembling legs fallen open like a particularly lewd doll straight out of his fantasies.

 

He pulls out slowly, watching the pinkness of Oikawa’s hole squeeze shut around nothing in an effort to pull him back. Then, a drip of white mars the surface of their sheets and Oikawa whines.

 

Aftercare begins now, with a soft washcloth wet with hot water, wiping down his shivery lover and cleaning up the yakuza leader’s messy face.

 

“Hajime,” Oikawa is like a cat after all of this, energy sapped from his limbs and letting Iwaizumi feed him little bits of a protein bar then hold a glass of water for him to drink from till he shakes his head and curls into Iwaizumi’s side.

 

More than anything, right now, Oikawa needs the confirmation that Iwaizumi is there with him and he’s happy to give it, spooning around the taller one like a comma, stroking his sweaty hair until the yakuza leader’s breath evens out.

 

Even if Iwaizumi may not be the most powerful on the yakuza totem pole, he figures he’s pretty high up. And with Oikawa safely at the top, he knows he’s closer to the top than people think.


End file.
